Death Wish Returns
by zooman
Summary: My story is a direct sequel to Death Wish 2, and takes place in the Charles Bronson Death Wish series of films. This story is an untold adventure about Paul Kersey, mentioned briefly in Death Wish 3, about an adventure he had in Kansas City.


Death Wish Returns

KANSAS CITY-1982-Kansas City was a very lively town at this time of night. It was midnight. Paul Kersey walked down a lonely stretch of road in an out-of-the way part of the city. A cool breeze rustled Paul's wavy black hair, as he cautiously moved down the decrepit looking area in his tan jacket and blue jeans and boots. He ran his left hand over his moustache, as he looked around himself, like some kind of jungle animal stalking his prey. His jacket was unzipped revealing his short sleeved, buttoned up white shirt, and silver tie. There were very, VERY rundown looking houses on both sides of the street Paul walked down. A sign post at the end of the street. JILL IRELAND AVENUE, painted in white letters on the green sign post. Paul shook in the chilly breeze and pushed both his hands into his jacket pockets. He thought back to how he'd first come to Kansas City from Los Angeles...

 _Paul had been sitting alone in his tiny office in the building of the small architectural firm, when the black phone rang on his desk. He wore his best black suit and tie, and it was a cool mid afternoon day. Paul had been busy doing some sketching of a new McDonalds establishment. His sketching was incredibly detailed-there was even a sketch of a Ronald McDonald statute standing near the entrance of the proposed building!. Paul answered the phone. His office contained a desk, a couple of chairs. and a shelf jam packed with thick texts on architecture in a purple bookshelf, pushed up against the wall located behind Paul. "Hello, Kersey and Alan architects...," Paul said politely into the phone. He kept on with his sketching with his other hand. "Paul Kersey? My name is Larry Lachlan, I'm the owner/creator of Lachlan Models. As you know we're setting up a franchise in Kansas City, and I'm looking for an architect to design the new store we have in mind. Are you available?" The smooth, deep voice sounded very enthusiastic on the other end. Paul smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I've heard of you Mr. Lachlan..." "Larry," interrupted the man's voice in a friendly sort of way. "Larry then," replied Paul, smiling and turning his head to allow himself a brief look out the window of his office situated on the wall at the right side of him, his raised his eyebrows a bit, "as we business men say: ready, willing and able."_

 _P_ aul continued his careful, slow stalking-kind of walk down the dark street in midnight in Kansas City. He looked to the right of himself and studied with interest some of the very run down houses situated on the street. Three white men in black leather jackets, and black pants speeded past him on Harleys. Paul looked behind himself at the motorcycles and just continued going down the street. A middle aged, heavyset woman with long black hair and wearing an overcoat moved hurriedly past him. Paul slowed his pace and looked down at the ground. He thought back again to when he'd first come to Kansas City...

 _Paul stood in the other, equally tiny office. A tall, short gray haired man past sixty-about Paul's age-stood in front of Paul in front of a desk, wearing a faded orange sports jacket and blue pants. His thick, gray moustache almost covered his whole bottom lip. He adjusted his black tie with both hands. His office was decorated with just a painting of bicycle on a grassy knoll on a sunny day, on the wall behind him right next to the small window, through which one could see the rooftops of the city of Los Angeles. A bookshelf stacked with papers stood at the left of his desk. His desk was stacked full of all kinds of books on architecture. One of the books had Paul Kersey listed as the author in bold yellow letters right on the top of the dust jacket: a full colour photograph of Paul in a brown business suit standing grinning on the sunny rooftop of a building in New York somewhere's. Cory Alan shook his head reluctantly at Paul. "Are you sure you're ready for a business trip to Kansas City Paul?" asked Cory, concerned. Paul thought for a minute. The office was drenched in the bright afternoon sunlight. "Lachlan Models is a pretty big, growing fast operation," insisted Paul. He gave the other man a thumbs up with his right hand. "That group is going to have a corner stone on the whole model industry..."_

 _He was interrupted by the short, slim, red haired secretary who just opened the door to Cory Alan's office and simply barged in carrying a manilla folder of papers under her right arm. His long, willowy pink dress and red beaded necklaces made a very pretty sight to go with her short red hair and attractive features. "Here's the doco you wanted for the Gordon account," she said, business like as she set the folder down on Cory Alan's desk. "Thank you Kelley," answered the older man, without even looking at her, his eyes still on Paul. The red haired woman turned and walked back out of the office, closing the door on her way out. "It's just that with all that's been going on with you," Cory Alan reminded him, taking a deep breath. Paul looked away from him and looked at the painting of the bicycle..._

Paul shook more violently from the cold temperature. He took his hands out of his pocket and zipped up his jacket. The sounds of some rock music from a ghetto blaster way, way to the left of him from one of the creepy looking houses. After zipping up his jacket, Paul slowly reached his left hand under his jacket and reached for the large gun-a magnum!-in the holster tied around his blue jeans. He pulled out the magnum and very carefully fingered it with both his hands. He then slipped the magnum quietly back into the holster around his waist.

Then there were some heavy footsteps coming towards him from one of the rundown houses way at the left of him. He turned his head and noted two, large, black men in black leather jacketswalking slowly towards him. There was a full moon out. As Paul moved even more cautiously down the street, he looked over the two, seven foot tall black men with evil-rough looking faces. Paul thought back again to his chat with Cory Alan weeks before...

 _Paul smiled slightly. "I can't let any personal problems get in the way," he told his business partner sternly, "Lachlan Models could really bring in some welcome revenue to our joint. I'm not passing up this chance." Cory Allan ran his left hand over his moustache. "Well...your the boss pretty much," he realized with a smile, "as horrible as it was, what happened to Carol/your housekeeper, at least the rapists/killers all got theirs from that -dude-whoever he is." Paul lowered his eyebrows as he looked right at Cory Allan. "Yeah that's for sure,"Paul confirmed, coldly. "L.A. has their own vigilante now huh?" said Cory Allan with a touch of humour, "first that cop in San Francisco, then that wacko vietnam vet in that small town and now there's a guy with his own laws in this burg." Paul chuckled a little bit. "I better get ready. You know how much I hate small talk," Paul said with a smile._

 _Hours later, Paul stood inside his living room of his large house putting some manilla folders full of papers into the open briefcase, laying ontop of a small tabletop. He finished his chore and zipped up the briefcase. Then he walked over to a desk drawer way in the back of the living room. He slowly opened the drawer and pulled out the large magnum revolver! He then reached his hand deeper into the drawer and took a green cartridge. He loaded it into the revolver. A knock on his front door..._

Paul slowed his walk to an almost tortoise slow gait. He just kept watching the two large black men in black leather jackets moving towards him from the house. Paul finally stopped walking as he saw that it was apparent that the two men were wanting to get his attention (they began motioning with their hands for Paul to stop.) The moonlight was so bright, that Paul could discern their very sinister, rough looking faces very clearly-even at midnight. Paul thought back to that day in Los Angeles...

 _Paul walked across his living room and over to the front door of his house. He unlocked the door, removed the key chain, pulled open the door and saw...JERRY! She was standing there in a black, short sleeved dress. A long gold necklace around her neck. She looked at Paul with shock and sorrow. "Jerry," uttered Paul-his face taking on a strong, mask-like expression, "I'm on my way to Kansas City shortly," he said in a tone of voice which suggested that he didn't understand why she was there. "To continue the hunt there huh?" Jerry asked him with a bitter smile. "Well you can't go by plane, as you'd get caught out by a 357 magnum by security." Paul squinted his eyes. "I'm taking the greyhound," he said in a joking tone of voice. Jerry quickly looked up at the sky and frowned and sighed. Her long blonde hair was tied in a bun. She wore two large emerald earrings. "I still remember the first time we met in that Red Owl checkout line, 1970, I remember thinking to myself: now there's a crafty one." Paul looked down at the ground and nodded slightly. "My big regret at the time was that Joanna was there along with you, and it was clear you were unavailable." Paul laughed a little. "If you'll excuse me I have to get ready for the hunt." Jerry slowly looked right at him._

Paul stood perfectly still as the two young, big, rough looking black men, looked to be approaching him. Their black leather jackets looked really dirty in the moonlight. "Oh boy," Paul whispered to himself uneasily. One of the rough looking large black men got behind him, while the other one moved in front of him. The black man in front of him stared and glared right at him. Paul looked uneasily at the man in front of him, then he turned and observed the man behind him. Both men had really long hair and throughly evil expressions on their faces. The scary looking, young black man in front of him, clean shaven, had a massive, black tattoo of a pitchfork on his left cheek. "Ya shouldn't ba out ha at this time of naght whattty!" The man in front of him spoke in a deep voice with his ghetto accent. He showed his rotten teeth as he spoke. The man reached into his left jacket pocket and pulled out a large switch blade! The tip of the steel actually shone in the full moon moonlight. Paul made a deep, uneasy breath. "Why don't you jerks just go on your way," warned Paul as he narrowed his eyes at the evil looking thug standing in front of him. "We whatted in Bill's house aw night long for a dumb, helpless whitey to com along," the man behind Paul spoke now in also in a ghetto accent. Paul warily turned his head around and looked at the clean shaven, black man behind him. The man reached into his black leather jacket pocket and also pulled out a large switchblade. The tip of that blade also shone in the moonlight. Paul took a step to the right side of both the men, while looking carefully from left to right, at both men over and over again. "YA WALLYET MAN!" The black man who had been standing in front of Paul thundered his words as loud as possible. "OR WE HURT YA SOMETHIN BADDDDDDD!" The man licked his lips on his sinister, scary looking face and waved his switchblade in front of Paul. "HAND YA MONEY NOW MAN!" The black man who had been standing behind Paul, with an equally, frightening, sinister expression on his face, also waved his switchblade in front of Paul.

Quick as a flash, Paul reached his hand under his jacket, and whipped out the 357 magnum he had in the holster, and shot down the black man who had been standing behind him. The man shrieked in agony, closed his eyes, as he dropped the knife down on the ground, and flew backwards with torrents of blood gushing out of a huge wound in the middle of his chest. The man landed on his back in the middle of the road. The other man's expression turned from evil to complete fear, and he spun around from Paul and went into a very, VERY fast run, down the road ahead of Paul. Paul gripped the magnum even tighter, quickly raised it above his head, then speed of light lowered it and aimed it at the fleeing man's waistline. He fired into the running black man's left hip. The man screamed in pain and fear, but didn't stop his run.

At that moment, a young looking black woman in a light blue tracksuit came jogging down the street in the direction of the escaping hoodlum. The wind blew her long, black hair over her face, as she gasped in shock at the bleeding figure in front of her (blood was pouring out of the man's hip!) The slim figured black woman screamed and put her hands to her face. "WHAT THE HECK!? she screamed. Paul fired another shot at the fleeing man, hitting the thug square in the left shoulder blade. Giant blood stains began saturating his whole black leather jacket. The man screamed in pain! "OHHHHHHHHHHH MANNNNNNNNNNN!" screamed the bleeding young black man. He still managed to hold onto his large switchblade. "GET OUT OF HERE MISS!" shouted Paul with much urgency, "run away!"

The young black woman turned to run from the pained, bleeding thug in front of her, swinging the large switchblade. The man grabbed the woman's shoulders with both hands-his steel weopon still gripped in his hand, and spun himself and the screaming, crying black woman he grabbed, around facing Paul. The woman was hysterical now! Tears streamed down her face. She was screaming:"NO! NO! LET ME GO! POLICE! HELP!" The black man held onto her shoulder with one hand, while he pointed the large switchblade-the steel gleaming brightly in the moonlight-right at the woman's heart. The woman was crying and screaming:"POLICE! POLICE! HELP! HELP!" The man's expression went one of fear to pure evil once more, though it was clear he was in agony. Blood poured out the wounds on his shoulder and on his hip, and stained the crying black woman's tracksuit. "LET ME GO!" she screamed in fear. Paul ran towards the bleeding thug and the helpless black woman. He pointed the magnum directly at the man's face. "DRIP DA GUN, I LAT DA GAL GO!" directed the evil, pained young black man to Paul, as he held onto the screaming, crying frightened girl. Her mouth opened wide in terror! Paul stopped running and just stood, his mouth slightly open, as he looked into the eyes of the thug, while aiming the gun at the man's head. The black man pushed the knife closer to the woman's heart. A little bit of blood dripped out of the woman's body. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed the girl. HELPPPPPPP! POLICE!" Paul stood and stared silently at the evil looking thug and the crying young black woman.

The black man then shouted and moaned loudly in pain, as more blood poured out of the ugly, gaping shoulder wound. As he pushed the knife even deeper into the screaming black woman's body, Paul shot the thug full in the face! The black man screamed in more pain and fear, as his whole face, his skull, exploded in a mixture of blood and bone fragments and his body went flying backwards, releasing the girl, while dropping the knife on the ground. The girl ran forwards, crying, and ran past Paul. "POLICE!" she screamed over and over.

She stopped running then and turned her whole body around to look at Paul. A curious, interested look coming over her features. "ARE YOU A COP!?" she asked Paul loudly. Paul looked at the body of the black man whom he had just shot, then turned his head to look at the girl. "JUST CALL THE POLICE!" he shouted to her, while holstering his weopon. Then he turned his head away from the girl, and just ran off down the road and into the dark. The girl just stood there watching him disappear into the night. Her fear fading away. Her blue outfit covered with blood stains.

The next morning Paul sat on his bed, in his bedroom in the Kansas City motel room, still wearing his jacket, his blue jeans, his white shirt and tie. His holster, his magnum, and the green cartridge lay on the pink sheets of the bed. His briefcase lay on the floor of the bedroom. A newspaper lay on the small, brown dresser in front of him. The big headlines-THE VIGILANTE STALKS KANSAS CITY NOW-KILLS TWO. Paul tiredly got up, stepped across the room to glance down at the paper and scan the black and white print.

EPILOGUE-The young black woman sat beside the desk of the police detective, still shaking with fear. The thirty something, year old japanese female detective in the light brown overcoat, and short black hair, just sat calmly at her empty desk, questioning the still frightened black woman. "How old would you say he was Iris?" the pretty japanese woman asked the scared girl seated at the left of her. All the other cops in the squad room were all busy at their desks, eitheir talking on the phone or filling out some form or another. "Who?" asked the young black woman, as she turned to look at the detective. The japanese woman let out a startled laugh. "Wild Bill Hickok!"the detective replied jokingly. The young black woman just shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." She calmed down completely. Her blue outfit covered in dried, caked blood. She was quiet for a minute, as the detective noticed the lost in thought demeanor on the girl's face. "Take your time," sighed the japanese woman. "it's not rocket science. Why were you jogging at the time of night, at the roughest part of town?"

A large crew of tv reporters suddenly bustled into the police squad room. Many of them carrying large cameras and other pieces of film equipment. This one, gorgeous heavyset black woman in a gray blouse, a gray sweater, and yellow sandals rushed through the crowd of reporters. The woman carried a microphone, while one of the reporters from in the crowd aimed a giant camera square at her. The woman brushed some of her long, curly hair from her eyes. "Mrs. Iris Jen? I'm Oprah Winfrey, here in Kansas City temporarily for channel 8 news." The woman's eyes sparked with much interest as she spoke to the girl. "We hear the vigilante has moved from New York, Chicago, L.A and now Kansas City..." The detective waved off the whole news crew with her right hand, and looked intently at Iris. "Iris...the description?" she asked the young woman patiently. The female reporter holding the microphone nodded in affirmation. Her eyes glowing even more with excitement. She looked to be really anticipating the jogger's answer. Iris nodded, smiled and said:"Uhhhhhhhhh...yes...let's see...well...he was this really, really fat man. He had long, long blonde hair down his back, he was wearing a red t shirt...oh yes," Iris smiled even more deeply as she glanced from both the female reporter to the japanese detective. The female reporter looked disappointed, lowering her microphone. "Oh yes...," Iris Jen continued smiling at first the female reporter then the detective, "he spoke in arabic." The japanese detective frowned at the woman, then laughed and shook her head.

THE END


End file.
